Yoshiaki Sasaki and the Wood Block

Yoshiaki stayed twice with us: one summer during his high school years, and one time as a young adult coming to attend a language institute in Seattle. My immediate family, extended family and friends all became very fond of Yoshiaki. We developed a deep bond of friendship. Yoshiaki finished his university studies and became employed by a company in Japan. Years passed. My three children ranged from ages pre-teen to teen when their father was diagnosed with a rapidly growing terminal cancer. We all went home from the hospital in a state of shock. The phone rang. I picked it up and the voice at the other end said, "This is Yoshiaki". Somehow, across time and space, Yoshiaki got a sensation about us which felt serious enough for him to call. I told him that we just got back from the hospital and he wasn't surprised. He flew to Seattle to spend time with us and bring messages from the Sasaki family to my dying husband.

When Yoshiaki arrived in Seattle, my husband (who ultimately died at home) was in the hospital, my father was in the process of discovering that he also was terminally ill, and an uncle, with whom I was close, died. I mean DIED. Michael, my husband, was in a hospital room and directly across the hall was my uncle. My extended family and friends were at the hospital keeping vigil like gypsies. My uncle passed away just as Yoshiaki's plane was arriving at the airport. I ran to get Yoshiaki and filled him in on the way back to town. Yoshiaki came to the hospital room as they were putting my uncle in a body bag. He said, "If this were the Sasaki family, my mother would say, "now is not a good time for visitors". For some reason, I thought, "either it's always a good time for visitors, or it's NEVER a good time for visitors, but no matter what, here we are now", smiled and shrugged. During that visit, Yoshiaki visited with everyone, attended my uncle's funeral, and his concern gave us strength for the unknown days ahead. A few months later just after my husband and father died, Yoshiaki and his father visited again.

They drove from a place north of Morioka to Tokyo, flew to Seattle and when I picked them up at the airport, insisted upon immediately visiting the graves. We went to the graves, and they lit incense, prayed and honored the dead using their Buddhist tradition. Yoshiaki's father didn't speak English, but the intensity of his emotion and the importance he placed on the trip to Seattle so that he could physically visit the graves will stay with me forever. After visiting the graves, Yoshiaki's father insisted on going to a Japanese supermarket to shop for dinner. Both he and Yoshiaki took a bus back to our home loaded with bags of food. They prepared a feast.

That meal nourished much more than physical hunger. They had lost track of the last time they had gotten any sleep, what time it was, what time their bodies were telling them it was, and what time it would be when they would finally get some rest. After that visit, they sent us airplace tickets to come to Japan.

Yoshiaki's mother, grandmother, father, brother and Yoshiaki (am I missing anyone?) were the warmest hosts anyone could imagine. I will never forget the love the Sasaki family gave us. At one point during the visit, Yoshiaki drove me to the exact location where he had that sensation to "call Seattle, something is wrong" earlier that year. At another point during that trip, I went to an art store in Morioka City and bought wood blocks. The block I used to carve this abalcabal image was one I purchased during my visit with the Sasaki family. In addition to the prints for Jennifer, I sent one to Yoshiaki.